Babies, Football, and Worship

I've never stood on the edge of the ocean, on top of a mountain,  in a field of gold, or in the pouring rain and lifted my hands in praise to God.   I've never even danced before the Lord or shouted a loud Amen!  I grew up in the old school of church worship where both hands were used to hold the hymn book.   My parents sat on either end of a pew with their children between and we knew, we really, really knew that we were expected to sit quietly.   Mom could silence her chicks with just a look and Dad's lap would hold a wiggler still.   So there, between our parents, we raised our childish voices in hymns of grateful praise.

Now that I'm being led in worship by teams of casually dressed people who play guitars, drums and electronic keyboards I have occasionally lifted careful and reserved hands in praise to words and worship images projected on a large screen over the pulpit.   I've learned to appreciate and enjoy this style of worship.  Still when the pastor holds an old fashioned hymn sing on a Sunday evening  I'm happily there thumbing through the hymnal.

There is one thing that has gotten me to scream and raise my hands in victory; and I'm somewhat ashamed to admit it.   It's a football game.   It's true, and  I don't really like watching football!   How strange is that?   When Mrs. Tebow's baby boy's team won a game today I cheered and raised both hands in triumph.     When my own boy played football, I was a screaming, fist pumping fool.   Mrs. Tebow and I have something in common.   We were both told that our babies wouldn't or shouldn't survive the womb.    A miracle baby who's survived and thrived makes this mother's heart leap in joyful praise.

I expect God understands.

I Will Praise Him - The Isaacs